


buffalo to the eighth

by fyborg23



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bruises, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyborg23/pseuds/fyborg23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gally at this point knew exactly what shade of purple meant big trouble and what shade of purple meant "eh, just another day at the rink." 5'9-- and *yes*, he was 5'9, thank you, *Chuckie*-- guys got hit, especially if they were as annoying as Gally was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	buffalo to the eighth

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after [this](http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/hockey/nhl/gameflash/2013/04/11/30974_recap.html) game, in which [Ott hits Gally](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0w4TZDQ7ww), and the Habs take exception.

Gally poked at the growing bruise on his ribs with his fingers, seeing the purple mark turn yellow under the pressure of his fingers, and suppressed a wince. Why couldn't have Ott licked his visor or something?  
  
Not that Gally would exactly complain; it was *hockey*, and hitting was kinda part of the game. Plus the Habs kicked the Sabres' ass; 5-1, eat it, Ott.  
  
Gally at this point knew exactly what shade of purple meant big trouble and what shade of purple meant "eh, just another day at the rink." 5'9-- and *yes*, he was 5'9, thank you, *Chuckie*-- guys got hit, especially if they were as annoying as Gally was.  
  
Gally rubbed the bruise firmly, hoping to at least break up the little pool of blood under his skin. He could feel Chuckie staring at him-- well, his bruise. It was going to be very impressive in the morning, even if Gally iced it down, which he should've been doing five minutes ago. Gally shucked off his underarmor shirt, feeling his ribs protest at the movement, and tossed the shirt against the stall. He was going to see if he could beg, borrow, or steal ice from the trainers.  
  
Gally stumbled down the poorly lit hall, acutely aware he was very close to enemy ground. It would've been embarrassing to lose to a team that apparently couldn't be assed to replace that burnt-out florescent tube overhead. Gally spied an ajar door with the words “ICE ROOM” on a plaque. The promised land--  
  
There was a noise behind him--  
  
Gally swiveled on his heel--  
  
Chuckie. Who was shuffling his feet as well as making weird noises with his throat. Gally scrunched his eyes, and shoved the Ice Room's door open. Chuckie raised an eyebrow, Disapproving Look #4. For a rookie, Chuckie sure had a lot of opinions. Gally, at least, was old enough to drink in Canada.  
  
“Well?” Gally challenged, “You going to stop me from getting ice too?”  
  
So *maybe* Gally was pissed off about having a bruise the size of Alberta on his torso. Big bruises there sucked, and reminded you every time you took a breath.  
  
Chuckie glared back, his eyes ice-cold, and said, “Just was making sure you weren't going to do something stupid.”  
  
Gally was a good guy, ok, so he didn't even call Chuckie out on such easy pickings. Just raised his eyebrow and pushed himself up on the massage table-- quit that snickering, Chuckie-- and asked, "Mind getting me a bag of ice?"  
  
Gally made sure to give Chuckie his most irritating smile possible. Chuckie gave him a dirty look for his trouble, but stomped across to the ice machine and yanked open a plastic bag while shoving the machine's button with a firm elbow.  

Gally leaned back on his hands, with his thighs splayed, and watched Chuckie bend over as he wrestled with the bag's closing straps. Chuckie must have had a sixth sense or something, because he shot Gally a glare over his shoulder. Gally smirked, dangling his feet above the tile floor, and said, "You done?"

Chuckie rolled his eyes in a  _duh_  motion, and stomped back over to Gally, nestling his body in between Gally's thighs. Gally craned his head up at Chuckie's face-- which was curiously immobile. Gally usually could tell what was going on in Chuckie's head with each twitch of his eyebrows or with a tug of his lips--

Gally smashed the brakes firmly on that line of thought. Getting hard in leggings was fucking uncomfortable. Chuckie was still close, close enough that Gally could smell the ice and his sweat, close enough that Gally's going to blame the heat in his face on the furnace that's Chuckie.

Chuckie bit his lower lip, and looked at Gally through his eyelashes, and slowly placed the ice bag against Gally's ribs. Gally clenched his teeth against the sharp cold against his ribs, his hands fisted. Chuckie noticed, the bastard, and pressed the ice harder against Gally's ribs, the corner of the plastic bag digging into an especially sore divot. 

Gally squirmed--

Chuckie gripped Gally's shoulder, said, "Do you want this or not? Stay still," in a tone that meant Chuckie was fantasizing about making Gally sorry for being a quote-unquote shit. Fine, Gally was going to go on fantasizing about someone showing appreciation for the hits he took besides starting fights on the ice. Maybe one of the Bulldogs guys was still up; Gally could call them--

"How do you do it?"

Gally blinked, jerking out of his list of ' _guys to sextext_ ', and looked at Chuckie, who was studiously concentrating on keeping the ice bag against Gally's ribs. 

"Do what?" Gally said, feeling like Chuckie had slewfooted him.

Chuckie swallowed, smoothed a wrinkle in the ice bag, said, "Getting hit like that by-- *fuckers* like Ott."

Gally shrugged, "I piss off guys, I'm doing my job right."

Chuckie snorted. Gally shifted forward, leaning on his knees. "You've gotta get that snarl out of your face, Chuckie. We made the playoffs. No one died," Gally said, not quite willing to touch Chuckie when he got like *this*. Chuckie tended to get-- *physical*-- whenever he got pissed off.

Chuckie inhaled sharply. Gally pushed the bag of ice-- well, water-- away, wiping off the condensation on his leggings, and tried to jump off the massage table--

Chuckie pushed him down with both hands. Gally raised a eyebrow, tried to smirk, "Hey, now, it was a *joke*--"

Chuckie leaned in, way too close, and Gally felt himself blush from the forehead down. Chuckie reached down and yanked Gally closer to his hips. Gally felt his skin buzz from sheer proximity, licked at his badly chapped lips--

Chuckie slid a hand through Gally's hair and kissed him-- or bit his mouth, to be more accurate--

Gally didn't gasp; it was a close battle, though, between the new, sharp pain on his mouth and the pulsing ache on his torso, and he rocked his hips against Chuckie, his legs sliding against Chuckie in a  _rasp_ of fabric. Chuckie pulled away--

Gally almost followed his stupid pouty mouth--

Chuckie was staring down at him, not knowing what to do with his hands--

Gally grinned. At least Gally wasn't *new*. And pressed one of Chuckie's hand against his bruise, his toes curling a little at the sharp pinpricks of pain. Chuckie sucked on his own lip as he traced Gally's bruise, trying to find out the depth of it--

Gally's eyelids fluttered, and he shifted a little--

"Fuck, you love being bruised," Chuckie said, like it was a fucking relevation, dug in a nail into the center of Gally's ribs, and whispered against Gally's working throat, "Is this how you did it on the Bulldogs?"

Gally had to raise an eyebrow-- because *fuck* did Chuckie have a filthy mouth-- and tugged on the front of Chuckie's pants, his knuckles brushing against Chuckie's hard-on. Chuckie smothered his moan with his mouth on Gally's throat, his teeth digging in just *right*--

Gally gave Chuckie a stroke, sliding precome all over Chuckie's dick, and dragged his other hand against his own dick. Chuckie whispered, "Fuck," so strongly that Gally wanted to suck on that mouth, dig in his teeth against that lip until blood came up--

So Gally did. Chuckie jerked against Gally's hand, twitching more pre-come into his pants and over Gally's hand. Chuckie seized his hands convulsively against Gally's sides, the rough patches scraping against the tender spots, and Gally gave his own dick a squeeze--

Chuckie was humping Gally's hand, like he wanted to push Gally down and fuck his thighs--

Gally grinned, that was a fucking *brilliant* idea-- pulled his hand off Chuckie's dick with one last twist that made Chuckie moan high in his throat-- and pushed down his leggings, splaying his knees against the elastic waistband. Gally was going to ruin them but fuck it, it was worth it for that sharp look in Chuckie's eyes.

"Christ, Gally," Chuckie said, forcefully pushing down his own leggings and pulling out his cock, yanked Gally even closer, and slid his cock right beneath Gally's--

Gally rocked against the pressure on his balls, sliding against Chuckie's dick, and tossed his head back, squeezed his thighs together--

Chuckie's hips guttered against Gally--

"Please--" Gally found himself saying, jerking himself off, seeing Chuckie rock against him faster--

Chuckie pinched Gally's bruise--

Gally squeezed his dick harder, the pain making his pleasure better, shouted, "More--"

He obliged Gally, rubbing harder against Gally's thighs, breathing hard through his nose. Gally moved his hand faster as Chuckie pinched the bruise more, his abs flexing, seeing Chuckie lose it bit by bit--

"Please," Chuckie panted, slicking Gally's thighs even more with his dick, nudging against Gally's ass, making Gally feel every twitch in both of their dicks--

Gally ran his thumb over his dick, his ass sliding against Chuckie's dick, making himself a fucking tease, pushing against Chuckie's hands--

Chuckie swore, swift and fluid, coming all over Gally's thighs, smearing his come over the soft skin there as he rocked into his orgasm--

Gally bit his lip, seeing Chuckie pink and sweaty against him, humping his thighs, and bit it harder when Chuckie slid his hand all over Gally's thighs, his fingertips tracing Gally's balls--

Gally moaned, pushing against his hand, against Chuckie's--

Came, stars in his eyes, ruining his pants, splattering both of them--

"Shit," Chuckie said, looking at Gally like he wanted to go again, like he wanted to test out that bruise more. Gally tugged his leggings back up, the waistband looser by a factor of like, eight, and smirked. Gally raised his arm and looked down on his bruise, seeing the faint purple pinpricks underneath his skin. Chuckie had worked it over good, so much it'd linger just that much more--

Gally peered at Chuckie through his eyelashes, catching Chuckie staring at that bruise with hunger-- and a bit of anger. Chuckie yanked his own leggings back up, narrowing his eyes.

"Next time that happens, I'm going to punch his lights out," Chuckie promised.

Gally gave his best innocent grin-- which was rather spoiled by his running his tongue underneath his front teeth, said, "Don't be such an eager beaver, Chuckie."

Chuckie glowered. 

Gally could see some upsides to this 'being a pest' thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a peculiar sentence in English--[Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Buffalo_buffalo_Buffalo_buffalo_buffalo_buffalo_Buffalo_buffalo), meaning basically "Buffalo bison that other Buffalo bison bully, themselves bully Buffalo bison." 
> 
> My [tumblr](http://www.hastybooks.tumblr.com)!


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